


A Wedding... Episode

by TnT6713



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I wrote this at like 1 am, POV Second Person, dumb gross things, post-s5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:46:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TnT6713/pseuds/TnT6713
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nobody should be surprised to be here. The third time you two made the decision to get married, you thought Greendale was gone for good. You’ve been here before. The only difference is that this time, you’re actually going through with it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wedding... Episode

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SkippyKangaroo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkippyKangaroo/gifts).



_We’re gonna fly to school each morning_

_We’re gonna smile the entire time_

_We’re gonna be more happy_

_We’re gonna finally be fine_

* * *

 

“I’m sure none of you are surprised to be here today. The weather is just right for a TV wedding. The sky is blue. The grass is green—a big thank you to Ben Chang for mowing the grass—the air is warm. But most importantly, I think none of us are surprised because we know our bride and groom. We’ve seen them grow over the last five years. We’ve seen their character arcs develop over time. We’ve seen…”

Annie giggles.

Abed keeps talking, but you’re only pretending to pay attention. There’s a reason he isn’t the group’s regular speech-maker.

He’s right about one thing, though: nobody should be surprised to be here. The third time you two made the decision to get married, you thought Greendale was gone for good. You’ve been here before. The only difference is that this time, you’re actually going through with it. (You’d be lying if you said you weren’t terrified, but you were a lawyer; lying is your first language). And, okay, maybe you _are_ paying a little bit of attention to Abed, because just as you begin to think about it—

“Back in Season Two—” (You roll your eyes) “—I organized Jeff and Britta’s first wedding, which they called off, because they were both mentally still in Season One, working out the resolution to the Tranny Dance cliffhanger. Plus the network probably wouldn't have let them do something as serious as getting married so early in the season without some sort of deus ex machina annulment. They both had a couple more major arcs to go through before they were ready for this.”

The memory fades into focus like some cheesy iMovie transition effect.

_You squabble for the ring like children until she forces it onto your finger._

_Your head is spinning, but suddenly there’s a priest and an archway and some Irish woman is singing and oh, god, this is it, this is happening, you’re going to marry Britta Perry right here in the study room—_

Britta squeezes your hand under the table; your mind jump-cuts back to the present.

“And then, in Season Three, when Shirley and Andre got remarried, while Troy and I experimented with being normal…”

You lean over and whisper to your new wife, “Is Abed _really_ still talking?”

She gives you a pointed look. “Says Mr I-Can-Turn-Anything-Into-An-Opportunity-For-A-Rousing-Motivational-Speech.”

“Point taken.”

You let Abed prattle on for a little while longer, noticing with a quiet, bemused chuckle the empty champagne flute in his hand (Isn’t the point of a toast to have something to drink?), but when Annie lets out a loud sob from her seat, you figure it’s time for a change of pace. You cut him off with a fond but stern, “Thank you, Abed,” as you make your way out of your seat and around to the front of the table. “Now… I think it’s time… for a little song and dance. Hit it!”

At your command, Vaughn’s band, set up on a stage on the other side of the green, bursts into a lively rendition of “Pierce You’re a B,” which is probably in poor taste, considering Pierce is, well, dead, but you glance over at the card on the plate beside Annie’s that reads _Reserved for Pierce Hawthorne_ and smile. The old crone’s probably dancing along in Heaven—or wherever he is now. (Because, honestly, would Pierce _really_ have ended up in Heaven?)

You take Britta by the hand and lead her out onto the dance floor (which is really just whatever wood you could find in Woodshop 101 laid out on the grass). Her palm fits just right in yours, like it always has. She looks beautiful in white, but she’ll never admit it, mostly because Annie had to wrestle her into white in the first place.

(“White is a symbol of chastity and purity, which are concepts invented by the patriarchy to oppress women!” said Britta, probably.)

A single blonde ringlet falls out of her elaborate updo. You tuck it behind her ear; she smiles, and you swear the world stops spinning for a moment.

“So,” you smirk, “how does it feel to be a married woman, Mrs Winger?”

“Oh, _please_ ,” she rolls her eyes. “If anything, you’re Mr Perry.”

You laugh, because you can’t think of a worse-sounding name than _Jeff Perry_ , but you know that if she were serious (which you thank Pierce she isn’t), you would do it. For her, you would do anything.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a familiar, wrinkled little man wander onto the dance floor. “Dean Pelton cancelled classes on a Thursday for _this_?”

You turn to him with a roll of your eyes while your wife— _you’re never gonna get sick of saying that_ —smirks behind you.

“Shut up, Leonard, we didn’t even invite you!”

Leonard blows a raspberry at you before hobbling off in the general direction of the buffet table, flashing his Greendale backpack.

The music slows in tempo. As you wrap your arms around Britta’s waist, holding her close, you try to ignore the shrill sounds of Craig begging Abed for just one dance.

“But I don’t want to dance with you.”

“But the best man and the maid of honor are _supposed_ to dance together…”

“But I don’t want to dance with you.”

“Why does _he_ get to be the maid of honor, anyway?” Annie pouts to Troy from the other side of the dance floor, folding her arms across her chest. “Britta _knows_ how much I love weddings.”

“It was the only way we could get the venue,” you call in response.

“You call the middle of campus a venue?”

“It was free and he cancelled classes. Just try to enjoy it, Annie.”

It’s Britta’s turn to roll her eyes. “Give her a break, Jeff. This is probably the only wedding she would have been maid of honor in. I almost feel bad for her.”

“What, you don’t think Troy and Abed will get married someday?”

She says something about Rachel having her own life and friends and Troy probably staying a bachelor until he eventually realizes he’d rather be married _to_ Annie, so either way, the girl would be ineligible for maid of honor, plus there’s no way in Hell her brother is ever getting married… and you try really hard to listen, but you’re distracted by the thought that you are so incredibly lucky to have her, and you can’t remember ever attributing _anything_ to luck before.

“I love you.”

You didn’t plan on saying it just now—it slipped out entirely of its own volition—but despite her surprised smile, you know she can tell it means you weren’t listening. (It isn’t something you tell her often, but it sure is something you think about a hell of a lot.)

She kisses you, quick and clean.

“I’m gonna shove that cake in your face so hard, you’re gonna taste like frosting for a week.”

“Britta,” you smirk, “if you want me to taste like frosting, I’m sure it can be arranged. Just, please, don’t get cake on my suit.”

**Author's Note:**

> uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuusd;flkjgal/ksjf;lknugh I know Britta's hella ooc okay I'm mad about it but okay hear me out she's actually happy in this fic and /I don't know what that's like in canon/
> 
> so
> 
> happy birthday, Loren
> 
> (ur still a taintlicker tho)


End file.
